


Pride and Prejudice

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: AU, Dashing Hobo apostates, Dragon Age AU, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Inquisition AU, Jane Austen - Freeform, Regency, Slow Burn, regency au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:26:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you recall that joke Gaider made about a Regency era Dragon Age AU?</p>
<p>I have no self control. </p>
<p>Eventual Solavellan goodness, but first you have to put up with many, many discussion about propriety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride and Prejudice

Introduction: In which we meet miss Maiwe Lavellan, who takes leave of her family.

People often joked (never publicly, of course) that the Lavellans had so many daughters that they were less a family, more a clan. Their prospects were not good; the family had fallen into a form of genteel poverty some years before, all of them residing in an old farm house that had seen better years. The other Dalish families did not care for them; they had too much contact with humans, and knew too much of the outside world. It came as no surprise when the Lavellans opted to send their second eldest daughter, Maiwe, off to the Conclave, ostensibly to see if she might benefit the family’s fortunes. The reality was, they would accept any husband for her, and hoped she might find someone there. 

Maiwe Lavellan was not especially lovely. Her pallor spoke of spending too much time indoors, and while her blonde hair was lovely, she insisted on leaving it loose far past the age where it was acceptable. Her vallaslin choice was questionable; a proper young lady would choose something gentle, like the spreading branches of Mythal, or Ghilan’nain’s benevolent, slender antlers. Instead, she had chosen Falon’din’s sprawling mass, covering up and obscuring most of her features and associating herself with death. It was most unbecoming. 

It was most improper to send a young lady out on her own. Luckily, one of the Lavellan’s human friends was also heading to the Conclave, hoping to sell a variety of magically enhanced tokens whilst there. She was a woman of middle years, stout, widowed now for some time. She had a respectable reputation, and most importantly, she had enough wealth that she did not mind taking a younger companion. “It will keep me invigorated,” she replied, a smile on her face. “I do so love to hear what the youthful think.” So it was that Maiwe left her family with very little fuss, exclaiming that she would write every day, and that she would do her family proud. She carried with her a bow, the only socially acceptable weapon a young lady who lacked magic could wield. 

**** 

Chapter One: Impropriety 

The next thing Maiwe knew, she was waking up in a dank stone room, dressed most inappropriately in just a thin shift. Her arms felt heavy, and looking down, she could see manacles binding her wrists. What had happened? Would people see her like this? The scandal it could bring her family… It would spell the downfall of them, ruin the prospects for all of her sisters. 

Most curiously, a pain shot through her palm, reflected by green light. What magic was this? Maiwe had not been born with the talent, for which she had always been grateful. The world looked poorly enough on elves as it was; she had no need to be an apostate on top of everything else. Clearly something had happened to put her in this precarious situation. Before Maiwe had time to contemplate this situation further, two men walked into the room without so much as knocking, or having a servant announce their presence. 

No, not men. These were women, but they were dressed in trousers. Maiwe quickly averted her eyes, trying to keep them firmly on the stone floor. Never had she seen anything like this. Women who dressed as men, armored. One even had a sword, from the brief glimpse she had dared to take. She feared their corruption on her purity, refused to look up even when one leaned close, threatening her very life. What had Maiwe done to deserve this? Truly, she feared more for her reputation than for her life. 

A series of accusations flew back and forth. Maiwe responded to none, staying silent. It was her only defense. The two women even argued amongst themselves, their voices unmistakably feminine. They were not fighting in a manner that would be appropriate- they were shrill, anger in every tone. This was clearly not a part of the world Maiwe had grown up in. 

“I will take her to the Rift.” The woman with the sword, Cassandra, leant forward and undid the chains that manacled her to the floor. “Get dressed.” Leathers were thrown at her, and trousers just as the two women had been wearing. It was true that Maiwe had once worn them, but that was only in pantomime. She had little option here, and had no desire to argue with someone who was armed and evidently so filled with mannish emotion. At least Cassandra had the decency to turn away as Maiwe pulled the shift over her head, uncomfortably pulling on light leather armor and the dreaded pants. It all felt uncomfortable and strange, though she took a moment to wonder at the freedom her legs had in movement. They were not constrained by the width of her skirts, and she did not have to worry about tangling herself by taking too large of a step. It was not all bad, then. Her hands were clasped together once again, the cruel iron a reminder that she was not free. 

“What did happen?” There had been something mentioned about the Conclave, and survivors. No, a survivor. Her. Were they truly all gone? The woman she had traveled with, the soldiers she had smiled at, even those who had spit upon her and called her knife-ear. Gone and dead, and only she remained. 

The wooden door was opened once more, and Maiwe stepped into the light. It blinded her, made her stagger back. There were guards posted at the door and she felt a high blush overtake her face. They didn’t seem to notice or care that she was dressed like a man, but it was still all she could focus upon. Her gaze took some time to travel upward, a cruel and unusual glow causing her pain.

Attempting to shield her eyes, Maiwe finally glanced up. There was something green, something that tore open the sky even as it endlessly revolved, carrying rocks with it. What was that? Had she caused that? It was the same color as the pain in her hand, which she looked down at now, and then back up again to the sky. It would have been comical had it not been tied so inexorably with death. 

This, Cassandra explained, was the Beach, and Maiwe was the culprit in its genesis.


End file.
